by Julie Miller
“CAN’T YOU SPEED things up, Taylor?” Daniel Kelleher twisted the plastic evidence bag with the microchip combustion trigger between the fingers of the black leather driving gloves he wore. The entrepreneur seemed to expect some kind of medal for deigning to meet with Gideon at the old Meyer’s Textile building on short notice. “I have investors to report to, and a construction crew that’s costing me a fortune every day I hold them on retainer. You’re going to put me out of business if I can’t get this project under way soon.”
Gideon had worn his Class A uniform this morning to meet with Kelleher. The navy-blue twill was already absorbing the heat of the day, but the shiny silver badge pinned to his chest and gold captain’s bars on his collar glinted in the sunshine and called attention to the official nature of his investigation. Not that Kelleher seemed to care. His griping avoidance of even the simplest of questions bordered on irresponsibility. Or cover-up.
Was the guy hiding something?
“I can’t allow you to bulldoze a single brick until I determine who set fire to this place,” said Gideon, carefully studying the other man’s agitation. “I imagine your insurance adjustor will want answers to the same questions I have. Two fires on devalued properties you’ve recently acquired—am I the only one who thinks that sounds suspicious?”
Kelleher’s green eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me of something?”
Gideon didn’t rise to the other man’s taunt. “I’m just curious why you’re not interested in finding out who’s behind these fires.”
“Believe me, I want to know.” Kelleher paced to the warehouse’s knocked-out doorway and traced his gloved fingers along the charred brick frame before leaning against it. “But progress can’t always wait for everything to fall neatly into place. I have to move forward. I’m fifty years old, Captain Taylor. I’ve made and lost a fortune twice already.” He squeezed his hand into a fist around the triggering device, giving a dramatic finish to his speech. “I’m a visionary. I see things the way they can be. Then I make them happen. Forgive my impatience, but I don’t tolerate people or crises that stand in my way.”
Kelleher’s most recent crisis had nearly cost Meghan her life. She’d been thrust into a spotlight she hated, and now she had a potentially dangerous fan because of it. Last night Gideon had fallen into a familiar role as her champion and protector. He’d had her in his arms. The weight of her, the scent of her, the feel of her soft skin and silky hair had granted him a few moments of remembered heaven. For those few moments out of time, everything had felt centered in his world again.
But then she’d pushed away, denying Gideon the right to hold her. Maybe their love couldn’t be rekindled. Maybe happily-ever-after just wasn’t in the cards for them.
But Gideon was more than an old flame. He’d been her friend long before he’d been her lover. She might not need his touch the way he needed hers in the middle of his nightmares, but she still needed his expertise.
And if that phone call was indeed their arsonist, a man who was playing with Meghan’s peace of mind as well as with fire, then the need to find the truth had just doubled in importance.
At six-two, Gideon was by no means the tallest of the Taylor brothers. But he was more than big enough to get this job done. He strolled over to the doorway beside Kelleher, using his superior height to a subtly intimidating advantage. The warehouse owner wanted to act all big and bad, throwing around talk about his money—whether it was coming in or going out of his accounts apparently didn’t matter. In reality Kelleher wasn’t even six feet tall. The big man was just a lot of talk.
So he was damn well going to answer Gideon’s questions. Now. “Losing those properties could be a huge tax write-off for you.”
“Not as big as the money I’m losing each day I have to delay razing this building and transforming it into my dream.” The older man laughed as if Gideon’s suggestion was ludicrous. “I suppose next you’ll hint that I burned the place down myself to save construction costs.”
“It would take more than a fire to knock down these old walls.” Even with the surrounding grass and foliage turned a dull, lifeless brown from the summer drought, the warehouse sat in a beautiful location.
Dramatic granite bluffs gave way to tree-frosted hills that sloped gently down to the river. Though the river itself was too low to be seen over the levee, the Missouri cut a graceful, meandering path as it turned east to flow across the state. The floodplain on the opposite side of the river had been converted into an industrial complex that now lay abandoned. A soot-caked foundry, an aspirin factory, a trucking center. Decades of industrial progress had taken their toll on the natural beauty and resources of the river.
If Daniel Kelleher truly was a visionary, why couldn’t he raze one of those eyesores? Why was he intent on destroying one of the few beautiful architectural masterpieces left on the river?
“What are you planning on building here?”
“A casino. Hotel. All the amenities that go with them.”
Gideon reached over Kelleher’s shoulder and plucked the evidence bag from his hand. “You’re sure you’ve never seen a device like this before?”
“It reminds me of a blasting cap for dynamite or plastique, only it’s more sophisticated. I’ve seen construction crews use something like them.” Kelleher rubbed his hand across the top of his short, gray-blond hair and blew out a frustrated sigh. “You say that’s what started the fire?”
Gideon slipped the device back into his pocket. “Actually, this is the one used to ignite the fire at your Arlington Road property two weeks ago. But it’s identical to the one I found here last night. I’m seeing a disturbing pattern.”
Kelleher’s green eyes narrowed. “You think I’m being targeted?”
How the fires had been set had been relatively easy to figure out. Why they’d been set was a considerably more challenging puzzle. “Do you have any enemies who’d like to see your building project fail?”
Kelleher jabbed his finger in the air and pointed outside. “Look upstream for your answer, Captain. I have as much right to buy property and build a casino on it as Frank Westin does.” He brushed a film of dust from the shoulder of his linen jacket and resumed his pacing, into the heart of the shelled-out building. “Right now he’s got a monopoly on the Missouri River gambling business. The last casino that tried to compete against his Oasis was closed down in less than a year for illegal practices.” He spun around to face Gideon. “You want to discuss illegal practices, you talk to Westin. Word is, he hired an accountant to infiltrate his competitor, Vegas Alley, and doctor the books.”
“Where did you hear this word?” Gideon asked.
Kelleher shook his head. He pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his fingers at his waist, creating a casual posture to mask the hushed, conspiratorial tone of his voice. “There’s gossip around—at city zoning meetings, on construction sites. At the state gambling commission. Of course, Westin denies it. If he thought I was spreading rumors, though, slandering his reputation…” He dragged the tip of one gloved finger across his throat in a crude mockery of death. “I might find someone doctoring my books. Or worse.”
Interesting, Gideon thought wryly. An easy excuse without any proof to back it up. He didn’t like men like Kelleher, who saw people and places as business opportunities. Sources of revenue instead of individuals with feelings and history and character. Kelleher’s impatient opportunism hadn’t done anything to endear him personally, either. “So you’re saying Frank Westin isn’t above burning down your property to put you out of business?”
“I’m saying the man’s got mob connections. Or don’t you read the paper? He wouldn’t actually dirty his hands with something like this, but he has the money and influence to get someone else to do it for him.”
“That’s one hell of an allegation.”
Kelleher leaned in, daring Gideon to join his conspiracy theory. “Talk to him. Ask Frank Westin about the fires. Maybe he thought my building wa
s blocking his view.” When Gideon didn’t play along, Kelleher straightened in a huff and strode to the parking lot outside. “It’s nearly 9:00 a.m. I have clients waiting. Contact my secretary when you have answers for me.”
“Just one more question.” Gideon had yet to figure out whether this guy was just an arrogant ass or one very good actor. Either way, he wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. “Where were you last night between ten and eleven?”
Keeping his back to Gideon, Kelleher’s entire body rippled with a shrug. Gathering his patience? Controlling his temper? Buying time to make up an alibi? Finally he turned around. “Why?”
Gideon refused to be baited. “You don’t know where you were?”
After another lengthy pause, Kelleher relented his defensive posture. “If you must know, I was working late in my office, trying to figure out the best way to fix this mess. If the insurance doesn’t come through, I could go broke.”
Gideon wondered if he could get Mitch or Josh to put a trace on Meghan’s incoming phone calls, just to see if this self-absorbed megalomaniac could account for himself. Kelleher was up to something, he could tell. He just wasn’t sure what.
Arson? Stalking? Fraud?
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.” His opponent’s crafty smile indicated he was on to Gideon’s subtle interrogation game. “I don’t have time for anything but work, Captain. Ask my ex-wife.”
The crunch of gravel outside as another vehicle pulled up diverted both their attentions. Gideon’s senses buzzed into alert mode. But his state of sudden hyperawareness had nothing to do with his investigation and everything to do with the woman parking her truck.
Both men watched as Meghan climbed out. Her golden braid fell in a neat rope down the center of her back. Lighter wisps of sun-streaked hair blew around her face, framing the warm glow of her softly freckled skin.
She walked toward them, her shoulders set in her meet-the-world-head-on posture, a consummate professional. Since she wasn’t working a fire or hanging out at the station, she wore her Class A’s, as well, complete with silver badge and K.C. and F.D. collar pins. It never ceased to amaze Gideon how a plain white T-shirt and navy uniform—worn by men and women alike in the department—could look so utterly feminine on Meghan’s body.
The modest cut of the shirt and dress pants clung to every lean curve, showcasing the trim cords of muscle in her arms as much as the subtle swell of her hips. He didn’t suppose there was any one feature of Meghan’s fit body that jumped out at him. It was the whole beautiful package…
That Daniel Kelleher seemed to be sizing up, as well.
Biting down on his misplaced territorial instincts that immediately flared to life, Gideon stepped toward her and welcomed her to their meeting. “Meg,” he greeted her. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“No problem. I’m on my way to a day-care presentation, anyway.”
In a controlled sweep of motion, Gideon slid his gaze over to Daniel Kelleher’s interested smile, then back to Meghan. If Kelleher’s expression was easy to read, hers was an impenetrable mask. God, it frustrated him when she locked down like that. She’d been that way when they’d first met. It had taken weeks to coax that first laugh out of her, longer still for her to risk a bona fide argument with him.
It was as if she had some magic spell she could recite to turn off any outward semblance of emotion. If she was nervous or worried or eager, he’d never know it. But she’d be killing herself inside to keep it all in check. He’d learned that much about her in the year and a half they’d been together.
Something was bugging her.
He hoped it wasn’t regret about the comforting embrace they’d shared last night. Or the fact he’d asked her to spend more time with him this morning.
Positioning himself between the two, for no other reason than he could sense something was making Meghan feel particularly vulnerable, he introduced them. “This is Firefighter Meghan Wright. Daniel Kelleher. He owns the property.”
“Nice to meet you.” Meghan politely shook hands.
But when she would have pulled away, Kelleher’s fingers tightened their grip. “You’re that girl from TV. The one who saved the dog.” His grin turned into a full-blown smile. “I saw your Channel Ten interview on the national news this morning as a human interest piece. Nicely done. You made Kansas City look good.”
“Uh…” The mask slipped. Meghan’s forehead wrinkled with an embarrassed frown. “Thank you.”
“Absolutely.” He finally released her, but not after he’d run his sly gaze across her body. “You look taller on television. There’s not much to you, is there.”
“I meet K.C.F.D.’s height and weight requirements.”
Gideon stepped in to defend her. “She’s earned her spot in the department. If she couldn’t get the job done, she wouldn’t be in that uniform.”
“I didn’t mean to indicate otherwise. I think she fills that uniform just fine.” The guy was flirting with her. Definitely not Gideon’s intention. “You’re just more of a sweet little lady than I realized.”
Gideon’s purpose for inviting Meghan here had been more than met already. Now he just needed to debrief her on her reaction to Daniel Kelleher. “Kelleher, I thought you had a meeting to get to.”
“I do. I just couldn’t resist taking a few minutes to meet K.C.’s current celebrity. Thank you for trying to save my building.”
Meghan tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “It was a team effort.”
“Don’t be so modest.” He bowed his head at a debonair angle and bid her goodbye. Then he snapped back to business mode and addressed Gideon. “Captain Taylor. I’ll be looking for your report.”
His sleek black Beamer kicked up gravel as he sped off toward the highway.
Once the dust had settled, Meghan released a huge breath and stormed past the yellow crime scene tape into the warehouse as if she could leave everything behind her if she just walked fast enough. “God. It’s been like that all day. It started with a call from Mayor Benjamin this morning, congratulating me. If I was a man, yesterday’s fire would have stayed yesterday’s news.”
Gideon followed at a more deliberate pace, wondering at the intensity of her reaction. This was more than annoyance or discomfort. “Is that why you’re upset? Because of all the publicity? You did a heroic thing, and should be congratulated.”
Meghan whirled around to face him. “I did my job. Period.” Even in the charred interior of the warehouse, with its lacework of shadows hiding the expression on her face, he could tell from her stiff posture that she was silently venting her temper. She clutched her hand at her waist and breathed in deeply. “I’m sorry. You needed to see me about the fire scene again?”
“Partly. I wanted to let you know that I pulled up the data files and verified the design burned into the basement floor at the trigger site. It’s the Westside Warrior symbol. Though it was a pretty sophisticated setup for a gang to use. Of course, an expert could teach them how to create a remote delayed fire.”
“Or it could be a diversionary clue, to lead you to the wrong suspect.”
“Possibly.” He’d considered that part of the M.O., as well. “But the last two arson fires had no symbol.”
“Maybe it was better hidden at those sites. We could look again. Or maybe the Warriors didn’t think you were giving them enough credit, so they left a signature.” He could see she was thinking like an investigator now. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To bounce ideas off each other?”
“Partly. You do have a creative way of looking at things. Gideon slipped his left hand into his pocket and broached the next subject carefully. “Actually, the reason I called you was that I wanted you to meet Kelleher in person.”
“Oh?”
“Did his voice sound familiar to you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never met him before.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He strolled toward the ladder that would lead them into the basement, hoping
her natural curiosity would put her off guard.
She rose to the unspoken challenge. Meghan fell into step behind him. “What are you after, Gideon? Do you think Daniel Kelleher torched his own place?”
Chapter Six
Gideon had his own suspicions about Daniel Kelleher. He intended to run a thorough background check on the man, including financial statements and proven or alleged contact with any criminal activities. In particular, he was looking for a connection to known arsonists and gang-bangers.
But he didn’t need Meghan to do research. He wanted to tap in to her eye for detail and observation—if she’d play along.
“How are you this morning?” he asked.
“Fine, I suppose. The guys at the station won’t let a little extra publicity keep me from my regular schedule. I’d never live it down if I showed up late or tried to goldbrick.”
“I meant the flowers and the phone call. You were pretty shaken up last night.”
He could hear the defensive hackles tightening her voice behind him. “I was tired. It was a long day.”
Liar. She’d been scared to death.
But he let her have her excuse. Gideon stopped at the head of the ladder and turned to face her. “The man who called you on the phone and threatened you—did it sound like Kelleher?”
“No.” She stopped in her tracks at the emphatic answer. Then retreated half a step. “I don’t think so. Kelleher seems like an articulate man—a pretty smooth talker. The person on the phone whispered. It was a croaky, froggy voice.”
“As if he was disguising it?”
“Maybe.” Her arms went around her middle, hugging herself as she replayed the conversation in her head. “It made me think of my uncle Pete. He drank so much, it damaged his vocal cords so that he talked in that ruined voice all the time.”
Gideon pressed her for details. “But you’re sure it was a man?”
“The pitch seemed lower than a—” Suddenly she was shaking her head and backing away. “I thought you wanted to talk about the fire. Not my personal problems.”